


Don't Say Anything

by Arkadorium



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Underage Sex, Dom!Lena, Dom/sub Play, F/F, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkadorium/pseuds/Arkadorium
Summary: Things get kinky after Lena rescues Webby from an evil sect and finds her tied to an altar… Who knew the witch's niece could be such a tease?





	Don't Say Anything

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic, and it's DuckTales! yay! and with probably the cutest Disney ship in ever - Webby/Lena! Please leave a comment if you like it!

Webby has always dreamed her final hour would be something exciting and adventurous. Her dream is currently being fulfilled… but rather earlier in her life than she'd hoped for. Tied down, spread-eagled, on a dark stone altar, the fourteen-years-old watched the three cultists in dark crimson robes circle around her. The one in the middle has a great silver knife glowing with mystical power, and there is little doubt in Webby's mind of what it is meant to do. They're going to carve out her beating heart and offer it to Ducktullhu, their eldritch master.

“FTHLAGN!

FTHLAGN!

FL---” 

It's exciting, yes, but… it sounds more and more painful to the girl as the ceremony progresses, the man with the knife edging closer and closer while the other two's chants rise in pitch.

“FTHLAGN”

The chief cultist's deep chant is finally interrupted by a masterful kick to the face that would have made Webby's Granny proud. Knocked down to the floor, his jaw bleeding, the man drops the silver knife. 

The kick is not from Webby's Granny, but rather from a tall young woman, a duck with a big lock of pink hair and a striped shirt. Webby's best friend, the mysterious, adventurous Lena. The older girl isn't as strong or as fast as Webby, with all of her training, but she is agile, and 'weaker than Webby' still means stronger than the average duck, by far. Webby stares, transfixed, as a silent Lena gives the chief cultist another kick, to the skull, knocking him out for good, before tripping the other two. A punch to the face for the one, a kick between the legs for the other, and the three hooded men are incapacitated. 

Her medallion gleaming, Lena then calls on her power to vanish the three still bodies — to the Other Bin, Webby guesses. 

A word escapes her lips.

“Wow.”

It's as much about Lena's admirable fighting technique as about how stunning she looked, the smooth motions calling attention to ever side of her lean, female body. Legs curling and uncurling. A firm, round… behind. 

Webby instantly regrets speaking, but it's too late; Lena has heard, and the meaning hasn't escaped her. 

“Thanks.” Her confident smile becomes a little shier, a little more insecure; she runs a hand through her pink hair. “You… you really think I was… you think I'm… pretty?”

At that, Webby's mind goes into overload. One moment, she was dying, and now the girl of her dream is really asking her this? Really asking the subject? Yes, Lena, I think you're pretty, more than pretty, beautiful, infinitely beautiful, and your mind is just as amazing, I would do anything for you — all this — that's what she wants to say, but all that comes out is an overjoyed squeak as she flushes so red her cheeks look pink even through her feathers.

“Wow…” Lena smirks, in control. “I didn't think I'd have that much of an effect on you. …You're cute when you blush, you know that?” 

“YOU THINK I'M CUTE?!” she blurts out, still grinning like an idiot. 

“Duh, yeah,” Lena answers, “like, a lot. But embarrassed Webby is a whole new level of cute. Oh my gosh, I gotta see how far I can take this. You don't m— no, you wouldn't obviously… here, hang on a sec.”

And then Lena does something Webby's brain takes a minute to fully process. She bends down and unties her shoelaces; her sneakers come off, revealing Lena's narrow, but recognizably webbed feet. Relishing in Webby's surprise, she walks a step closer to the altar, then it's her pullover's turn to go, and then her shirt.

She's not wearing any sort of bra; somehow Webby isn't surprised. The De Spells are, as far as she knows, pure-bred ducks, or as pure as any ducks are in the 21st century; thus Lena doesn't have a chest, per se, any more than Webby does. But she does have two dark pink nipples protruding from between her feathers — and they're erect. 

Stammering uselessly as she tries to speak, Webby feels her heartbeat quicken as blood flushes to her core. The heat between her legs grows as it's never grown before, even at night, in bed, when she'd play with herself thinking about pretty women — Gabby McStabberson, that Roxanne Featherly woman on television, and, of course, Lena. But now she can't reach down and plunge two liberating fingers in her slit — her wrists are still bound. She strains against them. 

“OooOooh… Lena……ughhh…” she stammers incoherently. 

“Hush,” says the very naked Lena, putting a finger on Webby's beak. “I'm in charge, alright? You don't have to say anything - no offense, but you talk too much. Just lie back and let me do my thing… I promise you'll love it.”

Webby holds her breath for a moment, then nods. Lena smiles.

“Okay, then, first things first, these clothes have got to go,” she says. 

The witch snaps her fingers and suddenly Webby is naked; she feels the air on her chest and her bottom and back touching the stone of the altar. And she can feel the breeze in a certain spot between her legs. Craning her neck to look, she realizes in shame that she is so aroused that her pussy lips have swollen and are now clearly visible underneath the short, fluffy feathers of her nether regions. She is more exposed than she has ever been to anyone. 

“Oh God—” she lets out. 

“Hey!” Lena reprimands, playful. “What did I say about talking?”

“…Sorry…”

“You've been a bad girl,” Lena says, licking her lips. “I must punish you, or you'll just do it again.”

Webby wants to ask, so very badly; but she mustn't speak. That's Lena's rule, and nothing seems more important. And besides, it's so very thrilling not to know; to depend on Lena to find out exactly what's going to happen to her.

She doesn't have to wait long. Soon, she feels light, butterfly touches to the soles of her feet. And, oh, how is Lena so good at this? She's a duck, a true-born one, she doesn't wear shoes; her feet are used to all kinds of discomfort. Hell, Granny trained her to walk on nettle fields as though it were cotton (be prepared for everything, that's Agent 22's motto). Yet Lena's deft fingers tickle more than anything's ever tickled her before, and it doesn't take long for her to be laughing maniacally, begging for her tormentor to stop in-between her hiccups of ticklish pain, her small naked body straining against the bonds. 

Eventually Lena stops.

“Had enough?” she teases. “Special permission to speak - who's in charge?”

“Y-you… always, always you—” she answers instantly. 

That's as long as the special permission lasts. Lena rests her hands on either side of Webby's head, leans in, and silences her with a deep, powerful kiss. It lasts and lasts and Webby's bliss is marred by one thing: her womanhood still sits ignored, begging for attention. Lena must realize this, she must; she's feeling the same thing herself by now, and even as she works her way down, kissing and nibbling at Webby's neck before reaching her erect nipples, her left hand is between her legs, massaging her vagina.

Then at last, oh at last, Lena falls to her knees, and smiles, and leans down; the warm tip of her pointy tongue gently brushes against Webby's outer lips, forcing out a squeal. Skillfully, her strong tongue moves up and down and up and down, and it's all Webby can do to keep her beak shut as she moans in euphoria. Then, absently rubbing Webby's thigh with her free hands, the older girl pushes in, and oh! Oh! Fingers were never this good, and Lena seems to know all of her most sensitive spots, too, by sheer instinct. 

Webby quivers and writhes, the pleasure mounting inside of her like water beginning to boil; she loses track of time, space, anything but the precious feeling in her pussy and the knowledge that it's Lena giving it to her. And when Lena's tongue works her way to her clitoris - oh, it's heaven. 

"Yes! YES!" she cries as she feels the Big O coming on. 

Like clockwork, Lena pulls back. Still licking her lips, she _smirks_ at Webby. 

"Webby…" she reminds her girlfriend. "No talking!"

Her voice constricting in her throat, Webby tries to hold back, not to beg pathetically to cum like she desperately wants to; choked moans are all that comes out, but her eyes are pathetic enough, the quivering, soft pink flesh of her pussy, drenched in a mix of Lena's saliva and her own juice of arousal, is all the begging that needs doing. 

But - she almost crumbles at the sight - Lena shakes her head. 

"You know the rules, Webby," she says. "Bad girls must be punished. Don't worry, no more tickling, but I'm _not_ making you cum. Yet. Instead, let's see what else than talking you can do with that impertinent tongue."

Webby's eyes widen like saucers. 

"That's right," Lena repeats, taking pleasure in her surprise and embarrassment. "So I didn't quite make you cum, but that's on you - I've still done enough work here, now I want turnabout. Or are you telling me you _don't_ want to taste my honeypot?"

The dirty words are almost enough to push Webby over the edge. Almost.

She quickly nods her consent and Lena straddles her face, spreading her pussy lips for Webby. Gingerly, awkwardly, Webby (fascinated by the close-up sight of the other girl's private parts) pokes out her tongue, and gives the pulsating folds a tentative lick. The taste, the smell of Lena's sweat and arousal are pungent, but addictive, and soon, despite her inexperience, Webby is licking away at speed, exploring the insides of her best-friend-turned-girlfriend with abandon, dreaming of how it must feel. Lena doesn't talk either, too caught up in her pleasure as she massages her own chest to go along with Webby's lower ministrations, breathing fast with the occasional moan or squeal when Webby lands a particularly sensitive spot - Webby is a good girl, and when she does, she commits them to memory for future use. 

In their state, even with Webby's lack of skill, it doesn't take long for Lena's labored breaths and small squeaks to quicken; within minutes Lena achieves what Webby could not, and the pink-haired duck screams in bliss as pleasure washes over her and she squirts a sprinkle of clear, salty liquid that lands in Webby's mouth, and on her beak, and a few drops on her reddened cheeks. 

It takes a few moments for Lena to catch her breath again, her lady bits still pressed against Webby's face. She looks down guilty at her 'handiwork'. 

"Oh… sorry…" she apologizes, still a little out of breath and dizzy. "Heheh, I always a bit of a squirter… when it's really good…"

 _I don't mind_ , thinks Webby, a little surprised at her own kinkiness. But she knows herself better than to say it aloud, and delay her just deserts. Instead she squeals, as wantonly as she can manage, and the duckling presents her best puppy eyes to her mistress. 

"Okay… okay…" says Lena. "Yeah, you've earned it."

Walking off of her, Lena returns to her earlier position; and, a hand resting on each of Webby's legs, she leans down and plants a passionate kiss on Webby's denied pussy, a kiss that makes it all better, all so very very worth it, with a powerful tongue going right in and hitting her clit and—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!-------"

She's in paradise and she can't breathe and she can't think - and then, softly, gently, she rides out the wave of erotic pleasure and her world returns to normal. She looks at Lena, who's pulled away, and on her face is something more than just pussy juice. Something sticky, and clear, which she knows from sight alone tastes slightly salty. 

"Squirter too, heh?" chuckles Lena. "Now it's official, we're made for each other."

Both girls laugh and laugh, and Webby hardly notices that her bonds are gone by the end of it. After a while, Lena seems to realize that Webby's too tired to get off the altar just yet. Another mystic wave of her hands, and the cold stone table turns to a fluffy bed - pink, of course - pink like Webby's clothes, pink like Lena's hair, pink like the tender folds of their muffins. Lena smiles, and, with both of them still naked and sweaty - fuck it, she doesn't care- she climbs in, and pulls Webby into a hug as she falls asleep.


End file.
